


Serve to Soothe

by crushcandles



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26423608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushcandles/pseuds/crushcandles
Summary: "When I squeeze you," Joe says, wetting his lips, "I want you to say my name."He gently squeezes Nicky's sides to demonstrate. After this week of rough handling, it's so soft it barely registers as a touch.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 18
Kudos: 204





	Serve to Soothe

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for two prompts from an anon on tumblr: “Look at me. Now.” / “Say my name,” “Louder.” Thanks, anon!

Whatever's touching the back of his head doesn't waver. The blunt tip of it is snuggled right in the soft notch where Nicky’s spine meets his skull. If it moves, it only does so to ride his uneven breathing. If it's a gun, then it won't be the first time this week one's been pressed there. This one won't fire though, that Nicky knows. 

He tries to slow his breathing, eyes on his dirty jeans on the skinny mattress. He’s kneeling on a single bed with a rickety wood and metal frame, so narrow that Nicky’s knees and feet clear either side of it. His weight alone is enough to have the mattress riding the springs. This dorm they found to spend the night in was half-destroyed by an explosion a decade ago, but things remain: desks, upturned chairs, these empty beds. 

Nicky's never stayed in a dorm before, but he has slept on beds like this before. Tonight he and Joe will sleep on this bed in this room, or its exact replica in some other room that looks just like this one. It will be good, to have a night of peace, after such a long, blood-soaked, bone-shattering week. 

He must sigh, or drop his head by a degree, or otherwise give away that his attention slips for a moment, imagining their bodies finally comfortable, because whatever's touching him jabs at him. 

It's fingers. Nicky can feel them now that they're digging into his skin. The longer middle finger, the nail well-rounded and smooth, and just the very tip of the index finger, better felt when the fingers twist. It doesn't hurt, not after this week, but the feeling grates, a reminder of the bullet-hot muzzle of a pistol pressing there yesterday. 

"Look at me. Now." 

Nicky turns his head, committed to being obedient to Joe even if he's not fully focused, but he must not react fast enough or smoothly enough because the fingers transform from a gun on his neck into a grip in his hair. It’s secure, knuckles tucked tightly against his scalp. It doesn't hurt either, just makes it easier for Joe to tilt Nicky's head straight back.

Bent like this, he can see more of Joe’s beard than anything else. That and his throat, vulnerable in its swallowing, and his chest, stretching out the thin sweater Joe’s wearing. The rest of him is upside-down, mixed-up, hard to see in the terrible grey light coming in through the dusty window. 

Joe tilts his chin down so Nicky can see his mouth and his eyes. He doesn’t smile when he asks, “Are you with me?” but his voice isn’t very stern, just concerned.

“Yes,” Nicky murmurs. “I’m here.” To show it, he settles better on his knees, lets his body bow back, the weight of his skull resting on Joe’s hand.

Joe grips his hair a little tighter. “We can stop.”

Nicky shakes his head, which does hurt. He’s tired but he doesn’t want to stop. This is for both of them, together. There will be time to sleep later. Now is the only time for this, the murky spot between the darkness of the past week and the light of the future. They agreed to make good use of this place, this time.

Joe uses his grip on Nicky’s hair to push him upright and then he lets go, his two gun fingers trailing softly down Nicky’s nape as he rounds the bed. He stops in front of Nicky's knees and takes hold of his face again. This time he doesn't grab, just cups Nicky's cheeks. He stoops to kiss Nicky twice swiftly as he kneels on the cracked floor. Once, between the eyebrows, where someone shot Nicky this week, and once on the mouth, where no one has shot Nicky for months. 

He lets go of Nicky's face so he can ruck Nicky's worn t-shirt up high enough to get at the button and zip on Nicky's jeans. 

"I want you to do something for me," he murmurs as his fingers part Nicky’s fly, tug his jeans down his hips. Nicky's underwear cling stubbornly in place until Joe eases them down with his thumbs. 

"Yes," Nicky says absently, focused on the careful way Joe frees his cock from his clothing, tenderly soothing his palm over it. Nicky's not hard yet, but he can feel a faint pulse there, a signal of what Joe will coax out of him. 

There's only that one kind touch though. Instead of stroking him to hardness, Joe pulls his shirt up his stomach with both hands. He presses the rolled hem into Nicky's armpits and waits for Nicky to pin it there with his biceps. Then he settles back on his knees, holding Nicky by his softly breathing ribs. 

"When I squeeze you," Joe says, wetting his lips, "I want you to say my name."

He gently squeezes Nicky's sides to demonstrate. After this week of rough handling, it's so soft it barely registers as a touch. 

"Joe," Nicky sighs. 

"Louder."

"Joe," Nicky says. 

There's still such kindness surrounding Joe, but at the sound of Nicky's voice a stern pleasure takes hold of Joe's features. The sight of it, strange but very welcome, makes Nicky's cock twitch against his thigh.

“Every time,” Joe reminds him and squeezes him again. 

“I promise,” Nicky murmurs, “Joe.”

“You’re so good,” Joe tells him as he leans up for a kiss. It’s a slow, patient one, as if they have all the time in the world to kiss in this empty place. 

Joe didn’t say he couldn’t, so Nicky runs his hands through Joe’s hair, over his shoulders, down his arms, as well as he can with his own arms pinning his shirt. The touching and kissing serve to soothe him, smoothing down hackles left too long raised. He loses himself in the sensations of a tongue in his mouth, nails running over his bare sides, the warmth of Joe’s arms under his hands. He won't forget everything that's happened without some more time, but this helps. 

Still scratching over Nicky’s sides, Joe leaves off Nicky's mouth to kiss his jaw, his throat. His beard rasps over Nicky's skin the same as his nails, making Nicky sensitive, as if his skin is too thin to handle such treatment. 

He moans when Joe's tongue slips over his Adam's apple followed by a wide sucking kiss that leaves him breathless. Skipping the bunch of shirt to kiss Nicky’s bare chest, Joe squeezes his hips. Nicky makes a wet sound, closing his eyes. His cock is hard now, ready for whatever Joe wants to do with it. 

Joe looks up at him, beard scraping the flat place on his chest. His eyes are dark with pleasure and darker with something else.

"You forgot already?" He squeezes again, harder, thumbs digging into the soft creases of Nicky's thighs. 

"Joe," Nicky coughs. His mind is swimming. It usually isn't this intense so fast, even when they make love like this. But he feels like he’s wandering in some loose dark, Joe's hands and mouth and eyes the only guide he has. "Sorry."

"Forgiven," Joe murmurs immediately, smile softening his face. What they're doing isn't meant to have lasting consequences or even to really hurt. It's to soften them after the hurt has already happened. 

Joe's hands sweep back, over his ass, cupping with sure fingers. 

"Are you good?" he asks. The question has two layers: the words said and the tone used. It's Are you good? and _Will you_ be _good?_ together at once.

"Yes," Nicky answers both. "I'm good." _I'll be good_. 

Joe nods, kissing below Nicky's navel once before opening his lips wide enough to catch the tip of Nicky's cock. The sudden touch of his mouth is so soft and warm that the back of Nicky's eyes prickle. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve it.

"Joe," he whimpers before the squeeze can even come. 

Pleased with Nicky, Joe hums, his tongue curling around Nicky's cockhead, drawing it deeper into his mouth for the first suck. It’s sure and gentle, but Nicky’s so turned on it feels immense, harsh. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, making a helpless fist on his knee, digging a knuckle into his own eyebrow. 

Now that he’s started, Joe doesn’t let up, mouth moving lower each suck, his mouth getting wetter until it’s loose and quick. The sound of it is obscene, a quiet, slippery contrast to the squeal of the springs under Nicky’s knees and his thready gasps. 

Nicky’s almost lost when the next squeeze comes. He’s so focused on the sight and sound and sensation of his cock in Joe’s mouth that he misses the blunt squeeze high on the backs of his thighs. He shifts forward into it, almost choking Joe, who pulls away, leaving his erection spit-slick and swaying. 

Joe squeezes his thighs again, brutally tight, nails biting into his skin. His eyes on Nicky are bright and demanding.

“Joe-!” It comes out of him shocked as he remembers what he’s been told to do, as Joe just takes what Nicky’s meant to give from him. Feeling mixed-up, upside down, he forgets himself in another way, both hands finding Joe’s hair to anchor himself, his shirt slumping over his nipples. 

Whatever pain Joe dealt him is quickly forgotten, traded for the overwhelming pleasure of Joe taking Nicky’s cock back into his mouth. His suck is tight and fierce. He squeezes Nicky again, almost as strongly as before, pulling Nicky’s hips towards the deep draw of his mouth. 

“Joe,” Nicky sobs, his voice breaking, saying _Joe_ again so loudly it fills the cramped room and echoes down the hollow hallway.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: [crushcandles](https://crushcandles.tumblr.com/)


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